Odette "Baby" Takimoto
Odette Takimoto Alias: Ophelia Chevalier Goes by: "Baby" Race: Human Age: 22 Money (before buying anything): 400000 Nuyen - 4 points AUGMENTS ''' Biowear : Tailored Pheromones 20,000 (0.7 bio index) : Sensitive Skin 10,000 (0.3 bio index) : Enhanced Articulation 40,000 (1.0 bio index) : Synthacardium 15,000 (0.5 bio index) Bio Index: 2.5 '''EQUIPMENT : Small blade 100 : Light pistol 500 : FAKE ID HIGH - 120,000 Money (after equipment and augments): 194,400 nuyen *Nuyen kept in three seperate forms to keep from looking suspicious. 64,800 kept on fake SIN ID 64,800 x 2 kept on two cert. credsticks SKILLS : Civilian Weapons - 1 pt : Computer Savvy - 1 pt : Athelete - 2 pt : Sneaky - 2 pt : FREE LANGUAGES: English and Japanese Awakened y/n?: No INVENTORY Phone - throw-away; changes every week or two or as needed Certified Credstick x 2 - 64800 nuyen per stick FAKE SIN ID - High quality Credit: 64,800, Nuyen Name: Ophelia Chevalier Age: 22 POB: Seattle DOB: March 4th 2041 Occupation: Student Parents: Franklin and Unda Chevalier ( both deceased ) Civilian Permit to carry firearm Pistol - small Pocket knife HISTORY A girl's gotta do some pretty bad shit in her life to want to be wiped from the matrix. That, or she's fucking scared shitless of what people may do if they find out who she really is. Everyone's got a secret, and Baby's just like everyone else. Well, except the fact that a day doesn't go by where she doesn't fear for her life. Let's go back to the beginning. That's where most stories start anyways, ain't it? Baby was born March 4th, 2041. To who and where she was born no longer matters--both don't exist anymore. What does matter is that while the hand of Death choked her mother's last breath from her, another hand, one with far more power, picked her up and claimed her as his. That hand just so happened to belong to Hitoshi Takimoto, one of the many businessmen who made a small fortune in the ever-growing mega-corp economy. Now, why he chose to pick Baby as his adoptive daughter remains a mystery to this day. Some say his wife, Chou Takimoto, was barren and after 6 years of trying, couldn't produce a child. Others say that Takimoto was enchanted by the little pink bundle of joy, with her bright blue eyes and harlow blonde tresses. And still others say that he simply felt obligated. Whatever the reason, the night that Baby was left on his doorstep was a night he would never forget. As Baby grew up, she was given everything she ever wanted, but with the consequence that she had to follow the strict rules and regulations set by her overbearing and overprotective father. He was a traditional man, and would not have his name nor his daughter's tainted by the rumors media was known for spreading. She was given the best of educations, a private school where she learned everything from dance to self-defense. She excelled, however, in math and computer science, her skills surpassing those of students 2 years ahead of her. But all that talent would soon go to waste. The summer after she turned 17, her mother, known for doting and spoiling the girl, passed due to a malfunction in her cyberwear. The Takimoto family was shattered that day, broken into pieces far too small for repair. The man she called father, wracked with grief, imploded. He became addicted to his work, and any talk of cyberwear, no matter how basic or 'safe', would send him on drunken tangents that could last for days, sometimes weeks. Baby, on the other hand, seemed to explode in rapid, violent bursts. She became hardened and rebelled against everything her father wished for her. She stopped going to school, she no longer adored the frills and lace of her childhood, and she, too, began to grow a seething hatred for cyberwear. She would spend hours upon hours studying it and the Matrix itself, scouring page after page to find some way to bring back the only mother she knew. But, like anyone trying to find a reverse cure for death, she came up empty handed. Fast-forward two years. We see an ailing Takimoto, a frail wisp of the man he once had been, laying on his deathbed. His daughter, while still bitter, was at his side. He was leaving her everything, he would tell her. The business, his fortune, his entire empire which he had built. His dying wish was to see her happy, for her to find the joy both he and her mother had fought so hard to bring her. But that wish wouldn't be fulfilled. Soon after his death, the threats came. At first it seemed harmless; phone calls with no one on the other end, vandalism to her home...things that most brush off as acts done by teenage punks with too much time on their hands. But as time went on, those threats became more and more frequent, and far less playful. Someone, or something, wanted her dead. After her home, the place she grew up in, was set ablaze, she finally decided enough was enough. Taking her inheritance, she did all she could to wipe herself from existence. After a change of identity, a few biowear augmentations, and an insurance paid to make sure her name was never uttered again, she found herself northbound from her home in conglomerate San Fransisco to Seattle, a place she heard of where no one knows your name, and if they do, it's only the name you give them. She brought her essentials with her...Gun, pocket knife, and creditsticks, along with a few articles of clothing and her beloved journal...nothing that could tie her to the name she was leaving behind. Odette Takimoto was dead; long live Ophelia Chevalier. Long live Baby.